McScott?
by Momosportif
Summary: A series of Scotty McCoy drabbles dedicated to daZebras, who basically invented the pairing in my world. They're drabbles in the extreme, so be warned if mush deters you. Props to Gene for characters. Please enjoy if inclined. :D
1. Would You Rather

Author's Note: If you have a problem with typed out accents either don't read this piece or don't review it. I firmly condone accent imitation and am uninterested in hearing how it corrodes the quality or readability of the writing.

Thank you

* * *

"Would ya rather…" Scotty's doe eyes searched the sick bay ceiling, "Would ya rather be jumped by a Vulcan, a Klingon, or a Romulan?" He looked expectantly down at McCoy, seated at the station by bed four.

"Sheesh… a Romulan I guess… got less of a rep with 'em."

Scotty swung his feet over the edge of the cot he was using as a chair.

"Now, would _you_ rather…lose your hair, all your money, or all your drinks?"

"Oooh…" Scotty put a hand to his forehead, "…mah hair. Since I'm gonna someday. Certainly not mah drinks."

McCoy laughed silently.

"Hmm…" Scotty propped his head up on a fist. "Would ya rather wake up after being drugged an' find out ya killed the captain… had a… sex change… or married Mr. Spock?"

"Jesus, not that last one!"

The engineer rolled his eyes at the doctor's apparent earnesty.

The doctor bit his lip and guiltily answered, "Killed the captain. Well-" Scotty gasped audibly, laughing a bit in spite of himself, "well," Bones continued, "no, I keep my answer."

"Oh, doctor," the Scotsman shook his head in humored disbelief as McCoy contorted his face in contemplation.

"Let's see," he put a hand on Scotty's knee. "Would you rather… read a technical magazine…" he held up his forefinger, "get a few drinks," he held up his middle finger, "or," Scotty grinned in anticipation, "turn the lights off and get to my quarters."

"Now, that one's easy, doctor." The engineer planted a kiss on his forehead, enfolding the hand on his lap. "Though I could go for a bit of tha' second one as well," he added as he helped the doctor out of his seat.

McCoy swung their clasped hands as he led them to the hall door. "Honey, I don't think we've gone to my room _once_ and not had at least a shot."

Scotty nodded judiciously. "But if I have to rather, ya know I'd rather have you."


	2. Mutual

Warning: I typed out a faux Scottish accent for Scotty. If this bothers you, please steer clear of this piece.

Enjoy!

* * *

Mutual

"Can ya tell me again why ah'm doin' this?"

Spock's ears quite possibly twitched. He, certainly not for the sake of curiosity, leaned his head out of council room B's open door.

"'Cause I told ya to, now stop askin'."

Spock perceived the good doctor prodding what appeared to be a blindfolded Scotty through the hallway, and from the lift in the Southern vulgar Common, a smirking doctor at that. An eyebrow rose deliberately.

"It's a wee bit _strange_, is all. Ya jist don' get asked every day if you'll kindly put on a blindfold, please and tanks. An' I cannah see where I'm goin'!"

"That's the point, Scotty – corner!"

"Aah!"

"Easy, there, you're fine."

A scientific mind demanded pursuit of such mobile idiosyncrasy as this. Spock followed, at a more than somewhat stealthy distance.

"Oh for the love of – Doctor, are we goin' ta get dere soon? I'm good and tired of trippin' over ma own two feet."

"Yeah, yeah soon enough, soon eeenough."

Spock halted, following McCoy's example, noting with interest a successful and complicated herding sequence to bring the sightless engineer to a seamless rest.

"Whoo. I feel like a sheep bein' run throo its paces in tha fields…Tell me we're where we ought ta be," the Scotsman's features tightened in a familiar expression of alarmed consternation and the doctor heckled genially.

"Heh, heh, heh, we're here all right… in fact," he turned from entering an access code to the storeroom before him and removed the blindfold with a flourish. Round, brown eyes blinked rapidly as they took in the cubic storage area. Scotty touched a hand to his heart and gripped the doorframe, staring disbelievingly at the beaming McCoy.

"Doctor," Spock angled himself to better view the items effecting such a maudlin reaction, "don' tell me these are fer _me_?"

"Hahahaaa!" Bones clapped his hands, accentuating his trailing laughter. "Yessiree, these are all for _you_, Mr. Scott."

"Ah-" a new level of shock evolved on the already surprised features, "_all_?" Bones leaned a shoulder against the hall wall, assuming a pleased slumped position. He shut his eyes blissfully and made an inviting sweeping gesture, chuckling,

"Aaaaall for you."

"Sweet Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph."

Spock regarded passively as the chief engineering officer stepped nearer the attractive arrangement of spirits, stroking the labels lovingly, acquainting himself with every bottle as if each were his child lost from him since its birth. A predictable reaction, though noteworthy in that the doctor also judged it so. He stepped out of a passing security official's path casually.

"Oooh," Scotty crooned after completing the rounds, "wha' a beautiful sight, a beautiful sight." He turned to the self-satisfied, smirking doctor, his intensely moved expression in place.

"You like it?" McCoy inquired with a hooked grin. Scotty clasped both of the softly curved shoulders and kissed each of the medical officer's cheeks in turn, causing both of Spock's infamously angled eyebrows to disappear behind his bangs.

"I coul' not thank ya enough, doctor!" the Scotsman replied heartily to the cheerily startled McCoy, doe eyes shining in earnest sincerity.

"Good, good," the M.D. respond with equal excitement, "then happy birthday."

A change came over the engineer's face that Spock, had he been fully human, would have labeled humorous befuddlement.

"Ma'…Good God, I clean forgot!" He laughed at himself, running a hand up his forehead through his hair before blinking himself into action. Glass clinked as Scotty scooped up the precious booze and held a bottle of high end scotch towards McCoy. "How about a few drinks, doctor? Wanta celebrate with me?" McCoy nodded ceremoniously and resumed a freestanding position.

"I'd be glad to, Mr. Scott." The pair exchanged amiable smiles and turned to find Spock observing them from a polite distance. The two parties eyed each other – one in awkward uncertainty and the other in unforgiving nonchalance. After a substantial opportunity to start conversation had passed, Spock inclined his head and passed his conclusion.

"Fascinatingly enough, it seems your mutual love of alcohol makes you a remarkably compatible item."

"Why – why, you-" As the good doctor processed his statement for offense, Spock turned and marched sedately to the council room with a parting, "Happy birthday, Mr. Scott." McCoy rounded slowly on his companion, disgust meeting a judicious shrug. Scotty shook the scotch bottle slightly and noted,

"There t'aint nothin' wrong with libation." The doctor's vexation succumbed to the growing grin and the pair resumed the stroll to Scotty's quarters.

"I'll toast to that."


	3. Astrophobia

Astrophobia

Montgomery Scott, chief engineer, was surprisingly important to McCoy's sanity. The fact was simple logic: McCoy hated space and Scotty maintained all functions that kept a safe barrier between he and the abysmal void. McCoy, as infamous as he was for his temper, had _always_ dealt with Scotty politely and amiably (which Kirk attributed to what he felt was a disproportionate amount of bitching directed at himself in comparison to the rest of the world). His trust in Scotty's abilities had never been proven misplaced, and he'd even fallen into a pattern of ignoring such terrors as potential hull breaches or ship consumption while doctoring due to his time-tested faith. This, of course, did _not_ mean he'd cozied up with the expansive vacuum, merely learned to cope with its constant threat.

Scotty, for his part, was unaware of the doctor's astrophobia until it incidentally came up in conversation with Spock. The engineer dropped his lunch tray a short distance to the counter space.

"He's _wa_'?" Spock raised an eyebrow and removed his tray from the replicator.

"The doctor suffers from astrophobia. Astro-space, phobia-a fear." Scotty lifted his tray, following the Vulcan to the table where Kirk was sitting, chatting to a passel of female ensigns. They scattered at the approach of the formidable Mr. Spock. "It is for that reason that we have equipped him with blinders for the panels in his quarters," Spock continued, strategically citing an example relevant to the engineer's work.

"Oh, aye, ah installed 'em mahself." Scotty squared himself to dig in on a good meal.

"What, Bones' astrophobia?" Kirk came into the conversation with a rueful glance at the ensigns. He smiled genially, "Yes, Bones has… always been afraid of space. Makes you wonder sometimes why he signed on…" The three officers slipped into a contemplative silence, each to his own figurative and literal plate.

Scotty made a firm resolution.

* * *

" 'Ey, doctor, is tha' you?" McCoy turned around, finding his hailer a way from the doors to sick bay which he'd just left.

"Hey, Scotty, d'ya need me?" The doctor stepped towards him, scanning for any external maladies.

"Yeah, I'd like ta show ya sometin'," Scotty gestured down the hallway with one arm. "Are ya off hours?"

" Yeah, I am. You too?" The engineer nodded. "Pssh, I didn't know we had 'em," McCoy muttered good-naturedly. "Anyway, lead on, Scotty." The Scotsman gave a short nod and strode off with purpose. McCoy studied him as they walked. Something about his serious air made him slightly apprehensive.

He was trying to piece together where the hell he was on the damn ship as the doors were sliding open and it nearly knocked him off his feet.

The viewing deck.

His eyes widened slightly as they took in the scenic view of the great, black, endless outdoors.

"Come on," Soctty beckoned from inside the doorway and McCoy followed suspiciously. Two sidling steps brought his back against the wall opposite the windows, gaze focused intensely on the starry expanse visible in the panes near the ceiling. "There it is."

"Yep… there it is. This is what you wanted to show me?" Scotty looked a bit aggrieved.

"Aye." He stood across the view deck hall and reached up to the clear slat and tapped it with his knuckles. "Come over here an' give this a good whack." Resistant scowl in place, McCoy crossed the hall and put a fist to the window, quickly withdrawing it. Scotty nodded. "Hit it again." McCoy complied, expression firmly sour. "Harder."

"For Christ's sake, Scotty-"

"Harder, doctor." McCoy, tenacious as he was, obliged the commanding tone that any redshirt would jump to. "Okay, now," Scotty slapped a palm to the gray wall. "Hit her good down here." The doctor did so, retracting his arms to a terse crossed position immediately after. "Feel the same?" A solitary shoulder shrugged.

"Pretty much." Scotty leaned closer to the doctor with a sympathetic explanatory face.

"Notin' gets in, notin' gets out. Unless we tell it to." McCoy blinked and looked past then back to the engineer.

"Yeah, I know. I have as much faith in the ship as the next medical officer."

"So dere's notin' to be afraid of." McCoy caught on and his latent wrath lessened considerably.

"Scotty, it's not – you don't – Listen. It's just the way I am, it has nothing to do with anything but my own personal… I don't know, quirks." Scotty's face brightened.

"Aye, ah know, but come back here." McCoy gladly returned to the far side of the hall. Scotty popped a panel out of the wall and switched a few wires. The lights dimmed to black and the galaxies out the window were illuminated in their stark beauty. Scotty turned back to the clear panes and leaned against the wall with the doctor. "They're the same ones we saw back home," he commented on the stars. "The Earth's just a bigger floatin' object than a starship." A pleasant lapse of silence ensued for several moments, even McCoy finding something remotely likable in the power of space. Eventually, he eyed Scotty slyly and smirked.

"I still don't like the damn thing." The engineer smiled back.

"But ya have to admit, it looks right nice."

"Yeah… it's pretty nice lookin'…"


	4. Hopping Hall Corner

Hopping Hall Corner

_Zsshwoop!_

McCoy scowled at the hypospray held at eye level, shaking it slowly and observing the vaccine swish. The sound of the ward door opening and shutting only faintly registered.

"Bones," a familiar, somewhat dramatically urgent summons came across the empty office to the adjoining lab area. The interrupted doctor put on a burly sullen look for the approaching captain, and upon his arrival gave the grumpy greeting,

"Hands off the lab table." Kirk huffed in exaggerated irritation, smirking amenably as he twirled a uniform undershirt around one hand, keeping the other on the off-white surface it had been ordered off of.

"Bones," he spoke in the intimate yet mystically condescending tone reserved for his good friend, "I… have a job for you." The doctor entered a notation on a med inventory PADD and rested the hypospray in an open drawer before looking up with mild mistrust.

"Okay," he stretched his own arms out, palms planted on the table in mimicry of the captain, "what's in it for me?" Kirk tilted his head and eyed him knowingly and Bones' reproving glance began to show hints of humor until the pair collapsed into good-hearted laughter. The doctor made a clear space on the table between them, saying, "No, no, I'm just kiddin' ya… What can I do ya for?" Kirk spread the shirt on the vacant table area and looked up with rougish eagerness.

"I… found this in a… rather…_ odd_ place, Bones, on my way to the mess this morning." The corners of the doctor's mouth turned down and an acutely arched brow rose in contemplation. The captain, however, kept an oddly intense look focused on his conversation partner. "The shirt itself was discarded at the base of an engineering maintenance tube-"

"Which way'd ya go to mess this mornin'?-"

"and, the placement made it seem as though the shirt had been… removed during some…" McCoy looked up, squinting defensively at the penetrating gaze that met his, "questionable activity." The captain leaned back into a normal standing position, having hunched over the table in the fervor of his explanation. "So," he clapped his hands together, "Spock's running a check for me to see who on board is men's size small."

"And loving it, I'm sure," McCoy replied dryly, marveling at the captain's severe deviation from "on task". "But, whatda ya want me to do?"

"Oh, right," Kirk curtailed a movement towards a biobed end, "finger prints, Bones, or DNA, whatever you can find on that to find out whose it is." He changed his mind and hopped on an empty lab table, eying the doctor expectantly.

_Bzzbzzbzz. _

_Click._

"Sick bay, Kirk here," McCoy rolled his eyes at the nonchalance with which this invasion of his turf was made. Spock appeared on the comm screen from the bridge.

"Captain, I am feeding my results to your present communicator."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk glanced briefly at McCoy, than back at the small print replacing the image of his first officer. He promptly began scanning the names. After the passing of several minutes, he stated without turning from the screen, "Bones, could you get to work on the shirt?" The doctor started out of his reverie of over-the-shoulder reading,

"Well, I – no, Jim. It's a violation of privacy."

"Bones," the captain faced the defiant McCoy, "it's part of my job to know who has time to do the dirty in the halls."

"Pssh!" the doctor rounded the lab table and stopped cross armed in front of the again name hunting Kirk.

"Hmm… Mr. Sulu wears a small… and yes, so does Mr. O'Reilly…"

"Ahem."

"Dr. M'Benga, really? I would have placed him as a medium…"

"A_hem_."

"Yes, Bones, do you need something?"

"I'm not gonna scan that thing."

"Okay, I order you to."

"Jim, it's unethical to pry like some-"

"I already _told_ you, I am justified in knowing-"

"Old Baptist gossipy granny-"

"to maintain safety and sanitary-"

"if it were you, would ya like it if Spock randomly ordered a-"

"it's as simple as that, Bones, there's no question-"

"but since you're the captain, it's a-ok ta just order a-"

"and besides, I already know-"

"SOME LITTLE ENSIGN WHO ACCIDENTALLY DROPPED HIS LAUNDRY ON THE WAY TO-"

"I ALREADY KNOW IT'S YOUR SHIRT, BONES, AND I-"

"WELL, WHAT'S WITH ALL THE SNEAKY AND UNDERHANDED-"

"SO IF YOU JUST WANT TO GO AHEAD AND TELL ME-"

"_I_'VE GOT NO PROBLEM BEING HONSET WITH MY CAPTAIN-"

"WHO YOU WERE SCREWING IN THE HALLWAY, THEN-"

"I SURE AS HELL WASN'T _SCREWING_ ANYBODY-"

"THAT WOULD BE GREAT!"

_Zsshwoop!_

The final shouted syllables reported sharply as the feuding duo turned hastily to an awkwardly entering Scotty.

"Am ah, uh, interruptin' sometin'?" The engineer scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

The other held a very nearly neatly folded uniform undershirt. Size small.

The tension dissolved instantly.

"Hey, Scotty-"

"Here," the doctor hurried to meet him at the door, "let me take that." Kirk's smirk returned as he watched a confused Scotty lean down to hear a residually ticked off message from McCoy and then an understanding whispered reply and, if Kirk wasn't mistaken, a quick kiss on the cheek. He returned the parting salute from the sheepishly grinning engineer and fixed a hautily victorious look on McCoy. "So you were _being_ screwed, not screwing-"

"Shut up!"

"That's _funny_, Bones, I-"

"SHUT UP!" the doctor stopped mid-prowl and beaned Kirk square in the abdomen with the compact shirt. He stifled the captain's heckle with a simmering glare. "Ass off the lab table!" Kirk slid down obligingly as McCoy stalked fuming to his hyposprays and violently seized the previously examined one, slamming it down, and picking another. Kirk watched for several seconds before slyly asking,

"Did he ki-"

"James T. Kirk, I'm gonna stick this hypospray up your-" the captain snickered as he exited the medical ward at a trot, leaving a menacing McCoy to his inventory. The doctor stared down the door heatedly before taking a deep breath and picking up the shirt on the floor. He layed it next to the one Kirk had brought.

After a moment of thought, he checked the tag of the one Scotty had found, suspecting that it was not a replacement as he and the captain had thought nor the original Scotty had believed it to be.

Sure enough, a neat H.S. was on the label.

"Quite the hopping hall corner, I suppose," he muttered, returning at last to his vaccine examination.


	5. Plumb Crazy

Plumb Crazy

"Mmm…" McCoy leaned his head back against Scotty's shoulder, smiling at the warmth of his nose against his cheek as several kisses were planted there. He gently intercepted the broad hands sliding up his chest, lightly massaging the calloused digits while turning to return the playful pecks. Naturally, a full on kiss ensued, and McCoy sunk contentedly further into the curve of the engineer's body. Several blissful moments elapsed as the pair exerted their passions. Abruptly, the doctor broke the kiss to turn and examine the hand he was holding aloft by the wrist.

He squinted.

"Lights twenty-five percent." The room responded, and McCoy traced a rosy blister from Scotty's palm to the index finger knuckle. He slowly rounded on the Scotsman to find a preemptively apologetic expression in place. McCoy's eyes narrowed wrathfully before lifting the left hand and, with little search, revealing an identical injury on the side from pinky to wrist . He raised his eyebrows and frowned tersely. "Well?" he demanded of the slightly exasperated and grudgingly remorseful Scotty. McCoy fixed him with an invincibly condemning gaze and Scotty avoided it as long as possible before sighing and meeting the expectant look resignedly.

"If it hurt I'd come up, Leonard…" The doctor crossed to his in-room medkit, having elicited the explanation he desired, and began rummaging through the contents.

"I don't know whether to be more insulted that you didn't tell me _again_, or that you passed up an opportunity to come and see me." He eyed a hypospray closely and then abandoned it, continuing his search. "Ya gotta take care of yourself, I told you that last time; a little something always leads to a bigger something, so what was it this time?"

"Generator." Scotty stared sullenly at the ceiling, half listening to the familiar lecture.

"Yup, I thought so. Ya know, some guys came in today with burns. I bet they were working on it with you, Jesus, at least _some_ people have half a brain… oh…" the last few words softened to a crotchety mutter as McCoy leaned nearly into his bag. "Here we go, some good old fashioned balm."

He returned, a sternly satisfied facial arrangement focused on the criminal hands. Scotty watched morosely as the doctor applied the salve with intentionally more vigor than was necessary.

"Can't quite figure out what it is about your type… it's not intentional masochism and it's not a nerve deficit… you just can't stop your work for half a second to patch yourself up decently." He popped the lid on and returned to his bag at a contented bustle.

"Ah guess tha's part of it…" Scotty watched the doctor's business-like return to the bed. "Ah jest don' notice, is all. If ah stopped workin' _every_ time I got a scratch or cut or sometin', ah really'd be off tha job more'n not."

"Pssh, sure, sure," McCoy murmured as he replaced himself in the engineer's embrace. "I get that… you're used to little things like this," he examined his handiwork keenly. Scotty made an exasperated cluck.

"Then why on Earth d'ya make such a big, hairy deal outta it?"

"Lights out," McCoy commanded before answering, "because I'm a _doctor_, sweetie, and not a peaceable one at that. I like to take care of you, especially if I can get you riled up in the process; your accent goes plumb crazy." A weary smile touched Scotty's features as McCoy planted cautious kisses on either burn and muttered, "There, I'll kiss it better." He turned a rougeish grin to the Scotsman and stated, "_I_ remember exactly where we were – do you?"

"Hmm…" Scotty ran his hands up the smooth cloth of McCoy's shirt and touched their noses together. "Ah think we were somewhere around…"


End file.
